Reminiscence
by red rose knight
Summary: At age 11, Anakin Skywalker’s apprenticeship with Obi-Wan Kenobi came to a tragic end during a diplomatic mission to Selenoor Bukha. Now seven years later, he is being sent back to Selenoor Bukha where he must face his demons and Obi-Wan again for the f
1.

Reminiscence (AU. Anakin, Obi-Wan)

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Timeframe: 9 years after The Phantom Menace

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Characters: Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, OCs, Yoda

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Genre: AU, Drama, Angst, Action

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Summary: At age 11, Anakin Skywalker's apprenticeship with Obi-Wan Kenobi came to a tragic end during a diplomatic mission to Selenoor Bukha. Now seven years later, he is being sent back to Selenoor Bukha where he must face his demons and Obi-Wan again for the first time.

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Author's Note: This story will probably only be updated twice a week while I am working on _Wild Knights_. 

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Reminiscence

Chapter One: Reoccurring Nightmares

Like all of Anakin Skywalker's dreams, they began with water. Burbling creeks, quick flowing streams, great waterfalls where the supply of the life sustaining liquid was forever endless. Crystalline waters cascading all about, cool and crisp against his skin. His joy and amazement unbound as he reached warm hands into the liquid that, as a child growing up on Tatooine had been such a precious commodity. Flowing all around him, threatening in a teasing manner to float him away in the eternal currents.

Splashing sounds dance in his ears as he scooped up a handful of the precious fluid in cupped palms bringing it close to his face. He wanted to feel it against his skin and wash away the dirt and grime that clung to it. 

The only true luxury he afforded himself. 

Like in all of his dreams, joy turns to horror when he looks into his reflection and sees deep red pooled in his hands.

The eighteen-year-old twisted in his sleep, struggling against the nightmare that had claimed him.

"No," a muffled cry was all he could manage.

The blood filled his sleeping hours, flowing all around him, higher and higher as if to drown him. 

"No." A little louder, a little more frightened as he fought with his tangled covers. The racing of his heart only drew him deeper into the terror. 

He couldn't escape the blood. 

"Not again." The youth shook as sobs wracked his helpless form. "Please, not again." Warm tears cascaded down his cheeks sinking into the depths of the head roll.

Shallow breaths escaped him as memory returned. He had been running. Always running from the blood but he could never get away. Dark shadows cast across the duracrete sea that he stood upon. Not even the blue sky above could chase the nightmare away. 

Sounds of a lightsaber and blaster fire drew his attention. He spun only to clap his hands over his mouth to stifle the gasp that escaped him. Corpses of men dressed in the deepest of red littered the ground in front of him. 

He had seen death before–life was hard on Tatooine–but not death like this. 

Blaster wounds left a single clean burned circle where the wound was instantly cauterized. Bloodless. As a young child, he had seen a spacer stabbed once. The dark stain on his dingy jacket slowly expanded until he died. He had seen the bones of travelers lost in the dunes of Tatooine, their blood dried by the hot winds. 

He had seen death before, but not death like this.

The scorched blood red of the soldier's uniforms carried the unmistakable trace of lightsaber wounds. Deep gashes crossed their chests. Bodiless hands still clung to their blasters that lay scattered about.

Even as his body fought, his dreaming mind slowly maneuvered through the sea of death. Horror still painted many of their faces.

He knew that Jedi sometimes had to kill but he had never witnessed such an act or seen the remnants of it. He had seen lightsabers cut through droids but never through flesh and bone, the image sickening to his mind.

_A child's mind._

This was a new kind of death.

His pace quickened, carrying him past lifeless body after lifeless body desperate to find the source of the killing. Desperate to providehelp?

Help. Make things right, again. Yes, he needed to help.

"No. Please, no more," he softly begged into the darkness but the nightmare refused to free him. 

It was after all, his fault the men were there. Had he been paying attention–

"No! Master, no!"

He tugged at the thin covers, wrenching them free and knotting them across his bare chest. Twisting violently on the sleep couch, he turned on to his side drawing his knees to his chest. 

His emotions had blinded him to the danger.

Before him rose a great stone wall blocking him from reaching the sound of blaster fire and lightsaber in motion. The sound possessed his attention. The hum, hiss and snap of exploding electricity. 

Yet, the blood remained. He stared down at his hands that seemed impossibly small and they were stained red. 

_Not again._

"No." He was in motion again, racing toward the edge of the wall that never seemed to end. He just kept running, hoping–praying–that any moment he would reach the edge. The sound getting louder in his ears with ever step.

"Master!" he screamed but it was not his voice. Not his voice as it was now but the voice of a child crying out over the sound of blaster bolts.

He had seen death before, but not like this.

More red uniformed corpses littered the ground and stepping amongst the bodies were living men wielding heavy blasters. Orange bolts zipped through the air exploding harmlessly against the wall.

Not all of them, some were deflected returned on the men by the powerful swipe of a pale blue lightsaber blade. 

"Master!" his childish voice cried out at the sight laid before him. No matter how fast he ran the scene always remained just out of his reach. Never getting there fast enough.

Those that still stood were only seven of nearly two dozen that had foolishly tried to ambushed a Jedi knight. In the small circle of men stood Obi-Wan Kenobi. His cloak hung ragged and limp, scorched and burned against his weary form. Muscles straining as he raised the pale blue fire to defend against the continuing onslaught. 

His eyes. 

Anakin had seen that look in dying men's eyes before. 

There was blood coloring his master's lips, drawing a line down over his chin and staining the front of his tunic. Over all of the noise, he could hear the Jedi's desperate breaths as he stepped into action against the volley of blaster fire.

He moved with a speed that belied the exhaustion that radiated from him.

Then there were five. 

Not again.

"Die, Jedi!" a voice ripped into his memories causing Anakin's corporeal body to jerk.

A brilliant flash of light blinded him. 

He saw himself, a boy of eleven rising up off the ground, the concussion of the blast having thrown him backward. His dreaming self reached out to the boy that wiped purple spots from his vision. 

No.

The edge of the wall was nothing more than a pile of debris, crumbles littering the ground. The men in red were gone. They were always gone; denying him his turn to fight but the blood remained.

"Master!" ripped from the sleeping youth.

Small hands dug into the shattered stone. If only they had been larger, he could have moved the stones away quicker. If only he had not been so angry. If only–

His vision blurred with tears. He could hear himself sobbing and calling his master's name. 

"Obi-Wan."

The Force gave him the strength to pull a large stone away revealing blood stained fingers. 

Desperately he clutched the warm skin, clinging to it as if life were at stake. The training bond that he had often blocked and narrowed pulled and drifted. 

He may even have felt it die if the rest of the wall had not collapsed.

"No," he sobbed, gripping his covers. "No."

Startled out of the nightmare, Anakin abruptly sat up. Realizing that he was in his room in the apartment he and his master shared safe in the temple, the chill of the nightmare began to lift. His breathing slowed and he consciously took several long, slow breaths. Fingers drifted to the roll of muscle at his left shoulder and he massaged the slight ache that radiated out. 

His shoulder always hurt after the nightmare. 

For a few moments, he sat there silently, listening to the dearth of sounds in the apartment. Good, he thought, he had not awakened his master. Every mention of his nightmares always brought worry out in the older Jedi. 

A few moments more and he had regained control of his raging emotions. Stilling his mind, he sat there quietly in a light meditative state. He never tried to seek answers for the nightmare. He knew the cause and knew there was no reason to analyze it.

There was nothing he could do to change the past.

"Anakin?" a soft voice shattered the quiet. 

"Master," he sighed having not wished to wake her. With a gentle wave of his hand, the lights came up low and revealed the imperious figure of Hiiro'eza Katua. Even startled from sleep, she was a commanding presence and he often felt the awe of a child when he looked upon the Isa'rui woman.

Her long dark blue hair with its golden streaks had been tied back and plaited, lapping over her shoulder in a thick braid. Large eyes as black as night, framed by pale blue skin stared out at him. Long thin fingers reached up and brushed over her flat nose before wiping the sleep from her smooth face. "You were dreaming again, my padawan," she stated, not asked.

"Forgive me," Anakin said softly, glancing away from the kind look she offered.

"It is not I whom you should be asking forgiveness of." She glided across the small room and pulled the long layers of her gown to the side before sitting on the edge of his bed. Fingers gripped his sweat-dampened arm. "Until you forgive yourself for what happened, these nightmares will never set you free."

"It was my fault."


	2. 

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Chapter Two: Passing Frivolity

"Are you trying to kill me?" a startled voice rang out over the din of a cafeteria filled with apprentices catching a quick meal between lessons and duties. 

"No, I just want to pin your hand to the table," a female voice growled.

"Acting like a bunch of initiates, you are," a mock authoritarian voice sounded over the disturbance.

"Like you should talk."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard her."

"Me? She's the one stabbing people with utensils!"

"It is called defending my lunch."

"Unprovoked attack is more like it."

"Stop laughing at him."

"Why?"

"I will pin you to the table."

"Careful, she has another fork."

"I dare you."

A thud, clink and a surprised yelp brought the busy cafeteria to a sudden halt. After only a moment of lingering silence, the dull roar charged the air once more.

"Someone please help me," Anakin Skywalker's muffled voice pleaded.

A young Zabrak male with he long dark hair tied back in a leather strap except for a padawan braid dangling behind his ear leaned close to his friend who was face down in a plate of urbi fruit. "I would, but Beshaan might try to stab me again," he whispered. 

"I'll take my chances."

"If only I were so brave," he said with a smile as he looked over at the third person at the table, a Golian padawan. Her aura ablaze as she clutched the eating utensil.

"You dared me," the dark eyed beauty said with a soft, almost innocent tone. With the remaining utensil, she returned to her meal.

"Ow," Anakin groaned as he tried to move slightly. His padawan braid was pinned to the table by a two-pronged fork very close to his head. 

"Roll models for the next generation, I see," a pale skinned Twi'lek master said as she stopped before the table and studied the threesome. Pointing to the back of Anakin's head, she added, "Padawan Vrosh, please rescue him before he suffocates in pickled fruit."

Sheepishly, the young Zabrak reached over and pried the fork out of the table, freeing Anakin's golden braid. The youth sat up sputtering.

A chorus of tiny voices rang out in cheer at the sight of the apprentice with stringy urbi fruit stuck to his face. The Twi'lek turned to her students and lightly clapped her hands together. "Now, younglings, do not encourage them."

The little one's wiggled in their seats, twisting to see the funny sight. Their small faces clamored to watch Anakin pick the fruit from his face. "Forgive our behavior, Master Navin," he said with a grin. 

The tall Twi'lek straightened and folded her arms across her cream colored tunic. "The one day I think it is safe to bring the younglings on a field trip to the wilds of the common cafeteria, you three put on a show. Is this how proper padawans should act?"

"No, Master," the three replied in unison.

"Forgive me," Anakin added, lowering his gaze to the table.

Navin huffed, pulling at the edges of her floor length skirt and returned to the table of younglings. "Pay them no attention, my small ones. Use the example of other padawans here in the cafeteria to learn by."

"Well we officially made gundark rears of ourselves today," Vrosh said as he reached over and picked a piece of purple fruit off Anakin's forehead.

"Speak for yourself," Beshaan said as she suddenly rose from her seat. "You two be good, I have go."

"Oh running away are you?" Vrosh chirped.

"Time to meet with my master. Anakin," she motioned toward the quiet eighteen-year-old. When bright blue eyes looked up, she pointed to the side of his face. "In your ear."

Reaching up, Anakin pulled off another piece of fruit. "Thanks," he softly replied. His thoughts drifting elsewhere as he was unable to get past Master Navin's words. 

_Is this how proper padawans should act?_

Though it was not the Twi'lek's voice or her words that rattled through his head.

_It is not the proper behavior of a Jedi. We cannot just run off to the races whenever we feel like it. Our duty always comes first._

"Just ignore it," Vrosh said between bites of an orange vegetable.

Slowly he nodded, knowing if he did not acquiesce his friend would lecture him on the politics of the dead. "I know." 

Lowering his voice, Vrosh whispered, "I hear there is going to be a surprise party for Padawan Weln, you want to go tonight?"

"No, I should tend to my studies."

Vrosh stared at him gaped mouthed.

"What?"

"You are the most boring human being I have ever met. Passing up parties for studies. There is more to being a Jedi than studying the Code, endlessly practicing katas or spending all your free time in meditation." 

"There is field work."

Vrosh slapped a tan colored hand to Anakin's forehead. "Are you sure you are feeling all right?"

A look of hurt glossed Anakin's handsome features before melting into a smile as he pulled away from his friend's checkup. "My master happens to believe I am the most dedicated student of the Jedi arts she has ever seen."

"You have her completely fooled."

"Hey!"

"And another thing," the Zabrak said, poking Anakin's chest through his lightly patterned tan tunic, "you are making us all look bad. Stop trying so hard."

Anakin laughed. It wasn't that he was trying to be better, or needed to be better than everyone else, some things–most things–just came easier. And in the places where weakness in spirit revealed itself, he worked hard to tame his raging emotions. With his master's help, he had learned to calm the darkness stirring in him. He had nothing to prove, he had all ready been humbled by his failures.

He would become the Jedi that his selfish, arrogant actions had destroyed.

His gaze settled on the table of younglings that were more interested in what was going on around them than in the food on their plates. He likened their awe of the cafeteria to be similar to the awe he felt the first time Master Qui-Gon had guided him into the large room. It had been just before he was scheduled to take that test with the Council to see if he could be a Jedi. 

Even though the Council had denied him entrance, Master Qui-Gon had promised that he would make him a Jedi. But while he was off flying through space and playing hero battling the Trade Federation's Droid Control Ship, Qui-Gon had been slain by an enemy of the Jedi.

His apprentice, Obi-Wan, had stepped up to fulfill his master's promise. And while they often disagreed, Anakin cared for his master. For in those early days, he knew that Master Obi-Wan was the only one who truly believed in him. And yet, there were arguments. Anger, so much anger. It was this one, bright emotion that he had always leaned into that blinded him when his master had needed him the most. Obi-Wan had been murdered, all for an angry little boy.

Seven years into his apprenticeship with Master Hiiro'eza and everyday had been spent worried that he would make the same mistake and let his emotions cloud his judgment and cost him the life of another teacher. 

His gaze met that of a small human boy who was turned in his seat staring at him with large brown eyes. 

"As a kid, I dreamed of being a Jedi and when I finally got the chance I nearly squandered it." He sat quietly turning his attention away from the child and down at his plate.

Vrosh spoke softly, his dark eyes completely focused on his friend. "You are not the first padawan to lose a master. Nor will you be the last." When Anakin did not respond to his words, he jabbed him in the shoulder. "But you lived, in no small part to your master's actions. And you, better than anyone, have come back from such a loss. I tease you, but I am impressed with your dedication."

"I–"

"No one has blamed you for what happened, you need to stop blaming yourself. Get over yourself and go on. You said it yourself he was protecting you. Take that gift and run."

"It seems no matter how hard I try, I will never be half the Jedi he was."

"Then be yourself." The Zabrak took on a curious expression. "Well, maybe that was not the best advice I could give."

With the slightest wave of his hand, Anakin sent a stringy piece of purple urbi fruit from his plate flying through the air and splat into Vrosh's face.

Laughing as he quickly rose to his feet, not wanting to end up in another food fight, Anakin said, "I have saber practice with Knight Theron."

"Oh, really?" Vrosh sat up, very interested. "She is so–"

"Do you not have studies to attend to?" a female voice interrupted. 

"I thought you were an aid for the Council today, Yarda," Vrosh grumbled, peeling the urbi fruit that hung from one of his vestigial horns. 

"I am," the Cathar padawan said folding her arms across her chest. Her long dark cloak draped over her lean, feline features. Turning her attention on Anakin, whom she could almost stare straight in the eye, she said, "As such, Master Hiiro is in chambers with the Council and your presence is immediately requested."

Anakin's heart lurched and a flood of anger rushed through him at not having realized his master was before the Council. "What? Why?"

"Instead of asking questions that cannot be answered here, you should go to the Council chamber and find out."


	3. 

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Chapter Three: Returning Missions

Anakin's heart had started pounding the instant he reached into the bond he shared with his master and sensed emotions that were alien to the calm demeanor of Hiiro'eza Katua. She possessed a serene countenance that far exceeded that of any Jedi he had ever come across, including that of Master Yoda. He fully expected that after his knighting, Hiiro would be named to the High Council. 

The Force aided his speed as he raced through the corridors and instead of waiting for lifts to carry him to the Temple heights, he bounded up spiraling staircases. 

Anger raged through the bond and it frightened Anakin. He had never felt such an emotion from her before and was fearful of what he would find. Mentally he reached out, desperately trying to discern what was happening but the bond suddenly went still.

The apprentice stumbled, catching himself against the wall. His breathing came in a short series of exhales and inhales. The bond was being blocked but that did not stop him. Wrapping the Force around, he sought his calm center. Remaining still, he struggled to focus his mind until he could look beyond the fear that was lacing through him. When he was sufficiently centered, he cast out, his spirit mingling with the Force as he touched everything in the Temple. 

The gentle currents guided him through the maze of corridors and rooms until he reached the Council Tower. His master's Force signature was bright and powerful within the circle of twelve. She was safe. Sparks of agitated red flitted about in the calming blues of her aura telling him that she was very upset about something. That, which he intended to find out. Drawing back in, Anakin opened his eyes staring into the bright light of the corridor. Exhaling deeply, he broke into a sprint.

Bursting into the Council antechamber, Anakin breezed past the gathered Jedi waiting for their turn before the Council. His entire being was focused on the large closed doors that separated him from his master. 

He marched past the aid's desk where the apprentice stationed there bound to his feet, racing around the large desk. "I am sorry, Padawan Skywalker, but the Council is not–"

"Expecting me." With a wave of both his hands, the great chamber doors slowly parted revealing the circular chamber. The twelve members of the Council remained near motionless, none of them turning their gaze upon the young man that barged in. Another wave of his hands sent the doors closed behind him. It did not matter if they ignored him; his attention was solely upon his master.

The tall Isa'rui woman was a commanding figure in the center of the sun kissed floor. Her deep brown cloak with a hint of pattern hung from straight shoulders, drifting just above the floor. The rich brown of her tunic draped open revealing a creamy yellow under tunic above the wide sash around her thin waist. The brown draped down around her trousers forming a false skirt. 

At the entrance of her padawan, Hiiro turned slightly. The long material shifted revealing tightly cut, knee high boots with a slight heel that added to her already considerable height.

"Anakin." There was hurt in her voice.

The Kel Dor, Plo Koon hissed through his breathing mask, "You were not called into the chambers."

Calmly raising a hand to quiet any further protests to Anakin's actions was the Senior Councilor Mace Windu. 

"What's going on?" the youth asked, quickly moving to his master's side. 

Hiiro's dark eyes blinked, then closed as she gave a long exhale. "The Council has an important mission for us."

"Master?" he reached for the Isa'rui but Hiiro turned back to face Mace and Yoda. Understanding by her actions that he needed to exhibit proper form, he took a moment to straighten his own lightly colored tunic and then formally bowed to members of the Council. "Forgive my abruptness, masters. I was concerned for Master Hiiro and was not thinking properly."

Yoda's large eyes studied him for a time before drifting back to the figure of Hiiro. Her blue skin shimmered in the midday light. 

The tiny green master nodded. "Understandable it is. Habit, you should not make of it." He pointed a clawed finger at the youth. "Consider always the consequences of your actions."

The words bit deep into Anakin. His failure to _consider the consequences_ had all ready taken one life. "Yes, Master," he said dipping his head in a slight bow. 

After a stretch of silence, Hiiro turned and addressed several of the masters seated around the room. "I will not be the one to tell him."

Anakin looked across at her but chose to say nothing. Hiiro had taught him that it is often better to wait and see what happens. 

Mace folded his long fingers together in front of him as he began to speak. "We are sending you to Selenoor Buhka."

The words burned through him, robbing him of the bit of calm he had fought so hard to possess. Squeezing his eyes closed, Anakin waited for the details of the mission to be spelled out but there was only silence. He felt himself waver as if at any moment he were going to fall to the floor. 

A firm hand pressed to his shoulder steadying him. He could feel the bond he shared with his master bloom back to life as her affections for him returned. He was grateful for her calming presence and sent a gentle pulse to her through the Force. 

"My expertise in mediation are needed there, Padawan," she said firmly. Though Anakin noted something hidden in her. "You are free to remain here–"

"Padawan Skywalker will accompany you," Depa Billaba said evenly. 

Hiiro turned to face the master that had interrupted her. "I do not believe Anakin is emotionally ready to return–"

"Master Hiiro'eza," Mace firmly announced.

Anakin looked to his master. There was so much grief painted in her smooth features as she straightened but said nothing else. 

Depa spoke up once more, explaining the situation. "The Chancellor on demand of the Senate wants a mediator to restart negotiations between the Selé and Buhka castes. The last truce and compromise broke down nearly a year ago when the dominant Selé government tried to evict the Buhka landowners to gain control of the Paelcite deposits. 

More wars to feed the greed, Anakin thought blandly. Paelcite was an extremely expensive milky white gem that could be cut for the finest of jewelry called Paelstone. A master cutter could turn raw paelcite into the sharpest cutting tools in the galaxy. Healers and artisans prized them alike for their scalpel precision. 

"For now, the Senate is concerned what the strip mining operations will do to the Barim-rich soil. They cannot afford to loose the primary source of Taedir growing lands within the Republic. The healing oils are still vastly used by much of the galaxy."

Many lives depended on what the oils provided and Anakin understood this. From his years growing up on Tatooine to his many visits to the Temple healers he had seen Taedir oil used in healing many afflictions. In some cases, small amounts of the oil could outweigh tanks of bacta in usefulness. He would just have to deal with his personal troubles, put them aside for the greater good. 

Offering a slight nod, Anakin said, "When do we leave?"

"0600 tomorrow," Mace said. "Things have deteriorated quickly and the world is descending into civil war." 

A pregnant silence filled the room. 

Ki-Adi Mundi shattered the sound void. "We have sent a mediator to get negotiations back on track, but prior to his arrival the Selé High Lord's palace was attacked and his daughter and granddaughter, the Lady Anjah and Temue were kidnapped by Buhkan rebels. They are holding them hostage to swing negotiations in their favor."

_Anjah._

Anakin remembered the beautiful Senebrak woman. She was as good as her father, Nural Lord Tanchim, was evil. She had been kind and helpful when he and his master had been there to mediate the land dispute seven years earlier.

She had sent her bodyguard in search of them during the attack on the negotiations. Had it not been for Anjah, he would have died under the crush of fallen stones. It had been under her command that the finest healers had been brought in. He owed Anjah his life. 

He would brave his demons to help her.

The Cerean leaned forward in his seat and studied Anakin's even gaze. "There is an investigation and search to rescue the Lady and her daughter. Your duties are solely to bring the negotiations about. This in fighting between the castes must be stopped before the Taedir harvest in the coming weeks."

Hiiro gave a slight bow of understanding. "We are not to interfere with the secondary investigation."

There was a coolness to her words that left a chill in Anakin.


	4. 

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Chapter Four: Walking Ghosts

It came like the great winds off Mount Reiki bringing with it a terrible chill to the small village of Djochish at the base of the mountain. As the quiet Buhka villagers pulled their coats close and sealed their doors and windows against the impending storm, word spread that the elders had been right.

The religious caste, collectively referred to as the Zabra, had warned the ruling and working castes that a change lingered in the air.

Their words had gone all but ignored by the imperious Selé but the industrious Buhka had taken the warning with great heed. Even as dark clouds built in the purple hued sky above, there was silent, tenuous rejoicing. 

For over a thousand years, a break off sect of Zabrak colonists had thrived on the bucolic world known as Selenoor Buhka. Religious differences united and tore the global colony apart dividing it into three tightly governed groups: the Imperial, the Worker and the Religious castes. 

That was not the only division from the Zabrak settlers the modern day Senebrak had. In the generations of exposure to the Barim Acid rich soil, it had altered the colonists by draining the rich brown pigments from their flesh leaving their skin an ashen white with silvery hair along their horn encrusted heads. 

So it came with great notice, a figure bearing warm pink skin and ginger locks. The laborers of the working caste, pushed to the sides of the country village, shock glittering in their gray eyes as they made room for the brown-cloaked stranger. 

At the sight of the bearded human, merchants and shoppers were quick to avert their gaze, drawing as little direct attention toward the Jedi as possible. The outsider heralded the great change the clerics had spoken of and it frightened the peaceful Buhka. Engrained in them were the memories of wars past and suffering that had befallen their people at the hands of the victorious Selé.

After generations of bloodshed nothing ever changed for the Buhka. Many whispered their question of why they should care now. They were still just the working caste. Scorned, trampled upon, taxed and in servitude to the powerful Selé. 

The only protection against the complete tyranny of the ruling caste was their ability to grow the Taedir, a healing herb. Without the Republic's demand for it, the Selé would have driven them from their homes onto reservations or murdered them en masse while they ravaged the Barim-rich soil in their hunt for riches in Paelcite deposits that for a mere cubic centimeter of stone outweighed an entire field of the herb. 

These days, the Republic had little power over Nural Lord Tanchim's lust for wealth. House Tanchim had already begun its assault on the southern continent, driving the surviving members of the working caste into refugee camps while their homes and lands were strip mined for the precious stone.

Even now the inhabitants of Djochish had watched helplessly as the Selé Imperial Guards–the Chinoumi–in their blood red uniforms marched through the market. The soldiers had forced the locals to support their housing needs, moving into the finer homes, feeding themselves from the plates of the villagers and making an already burdened life more difficult. They knew that this was the first stage in driving them from their homes.

The outsider with his pale blue gaze scanned the rows of vendors, but showed no concern that he was so visible in the marketplace. He walked in the open, through the busy village in a confident strut that dared anyone to interfere with his journey.

As such, the Buhka went out of their way to avoid him. The elders glance away as the young and the strong watched with wary eyes. 

Over the silence of the now stilled farmer's market, a child's voice whispered none to softly, _"Hasakai Jedi!"_

A tall woman with frightened eyes placed her hand over the youngling's mouth, silencing any more outbursts. She whispered in the Tann–an evolved Zabrak tongue–in a soothing tone.

The Jedi though paid them no attention, never slowing his trek.

Just on the outskirts of the market, the journey came to an abrupt stop just as two Chinoumi soldiers stumbled out of a small tavern into the bright afternoon. Bleary eyes struggled to adjust to the lighting as the leaned into each other for support laughing with every step. The younger of the two eyed a young Buhka woman and a called out a suggestive remark in the native tongue followed by a physical display of his intentions with the motion of a rough hand. The woman turned away in horror. 

Their pale faces were marked with the thin lines of blood red tattoos in a manner similar to their more subdued Zabrak ancestors. Their crimson uniforms were stark against the village and its inhabitants as use of the color red was forbidden to the lower class. 

Their long straight hair was tousled from a wild previous excursion, missing the simple material straps that tamed the silver locks. Even in stupor, the two men's eyes were keen enough to spot the outsider before them. The young men laughed and mockingly pretended to wave a lightsaber before them.

When the Jedi did not respond to their taunts, the bold younger man pulled away from his comrade and walked toward the Jedi, quickly sobering as he closed the distance. Harsh eyes glared at the outsider as he spat crude epithets in a cultured Tann voice. His cruel words inspired laughter from the other as he to quickly recovered from their celebrations in the tavern and moved behind the quiet Jedi. 

The forward young soldier continued to spew insults at the Jedi as he neared. A pale hand reached out and jabbed the outsider hard in the chest as he growled another string of insults. 

Very calmly, the Jedi reached up and took the young man by his wrist and twisted until something snapped.

The Chinoumi soldier howled and sank to his knees as tears flowed down his face, nearly immobilized by the light grip still on his wrist. 

The Jedi returned the favor and barked a warning in a Core accented Tann.

The Senebrak behind him rushed forward to aid his friend but the slightest shift and the Jedi reached with his free hand and sent the soldier flying backward with a powerful Force shove. 

The now cowed soldier kneeling before him was weeping as the Jedi snapped another warning but not directed at either of the young men. He twisted sharply to see a third Chinoumi soldier that had quietly appeared during the small incident.

He was formally dressed in a neatly cut red uniform, his rank reflected in the pins across his chest and the fearsome red tattoos on his face. He was tall, even for a Senebrak and was the true embodiment of the imperial Selé caste. Adopting a formal pose, as if inspecting the troops, the officer looked over the drunken soldier that lay face down on the street where he had been pushed then his gray eyes sought out the other one whimpering pitifully, his shattered wrist still held by the Jedi. Disgust radiated in his expression. "Do not lower yourself speaking the working caste's tongue," he said in an equally cultured Core accented Basic. "The Selé pride themselves on speaking the true language of the Republic."

"Lord Akum," the pained man gasped, his eyes widening in terror.

Releasing the soldier's wrist, the Jedi turned to the tall officer. "And this barbaric behavior, do the Selé pride themselves on such rudeness?"

"Drunken men act like fools," the officer replied. 

"Indeed."

Maintaining his distance from the Jedi, Akum paced back and forth. His finely polished boots kicking up the chalky white dust on the street. After a moment, he stopped and returned his sharp gaze to the outsider. "I must ask though, why a Jedi is so far from the crown city? We do not allow outsiders to sully themselves among the working caste."

The Jedi straightened, adopting a relaxed stance. The reddish-brown of his cloak fell open to reveal the soft creams of his tunic and the lightsaber hilt at his hip. "I am Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight, envoy of the Galactic Senate, special investigator under the authority of the Supreme Chancellor Palpatine and Nural Lord Tanchim. I am investigating the whereabouts of the Lady Anjah and her daughter, Temue. You and your men will not interfere."

Akum narrowed his gaze. "We could be quite helpful."

"Your presence makes things more difficult."

Studying Obi-Wan, Akum walked straight up to the Jedi. "What information you learn on the false Hasakai, you are required to divulge."

"My investigation–"

"These pathetic Buhka," Akum interrupted quite loudly so the villagers who were pretending not to listen could hear, "think they can emulate the Hasakai. The knights of the old Order are long dead, driven to extinction by the Chinoumi." He glanced around making sure he had garnered everyone's attention, "Hasakai were men of honor, these rebels attack and kidnap defenseless women and children. They are nothing but criminals and should not be protected."

Obi-Wan's calm mask revealed nothing of his emotions toward the officer's outburst. Folding his hands into the billowing sleeves of his cloak, he nodded to Akum then casually returned to his journey through the village.


	5. 

****

Chapter Five: Truths and Examinations

"I do not believe I have ever seen you study a mission plan so intently, my padawan."

There was something in the way Hiiro'eza said _my padawan_ but Anakin kept the thought wrapped under careful shields so not to concern his master, as she too had similarly done since the meeting with the High Council. For the first time, he felt fear from the great Jedi Master.

He looked up at the light blue skin of the tall Isa'rui woman. Her black eyes were intent on studying every expression and every nuisance of his movements. "I justthis mission–"

"Is difficult."

She always knew the words when he did not. 

"Things, do not make sense," he said, straightening in his seat and placing the data reader on the small table of to the side of the common area of their ship. They were only a day into the journey to Selenoor Buhka, barring any trouble it would take at least another three days. For once in his life, he had not had the urge to push the ship a little farther, a little faster to get their sooner. 

Anakin had set the ship's navigation computer to the standard route.

He was in no hurry.

"This whole missionmaybe it is just me."

Hiiro smiled and took the reader from the table. She quickly scanned through the information at speed beyond human capabilities. Her delicate pale azure fingers danced over the controls with such grace that Anakin could only envy her.

"I can manipulate the reader very fast," she said calmly, not glancing at her padawan. "But you are far more skilled at manipulating fighter controls and controlling a lightsaber. Envy is often in the eye of the beholder."

Anakin stole a quick smile and looked away, his cheeks burning red in embarrassment. She always could see right through him.

Placing the reader back on the table, Hiiro leaned forward. "Tell me, my padawan, what about this mission that bothers you so?"

"I don't know."

"Start at the beginning," her soothing voice intoned.

Allowing a deep sigh, Anakin sank back into the tall chair. "Where should–"

"What was your first inkling about the mission?"

"My dreams," Anakin whispered. "My dreams." His fingers traced across the smooth tabletop drawing small circles with his fingertips. "My dreams had begun to face over the last couple of years."

"And I was grateful," Hiiro quietly added.

"It's funny I missed them when they were gone. I wished for them when I was able to sleep good." He laughed. "My dreams–no, nightmares–remind me of my mistakes and that I must strive harder to correct them."

"You are too hard on yourself."

"You say that, but that does not change what I did." He frowned. The gentle circling of his fingers broke off and brushed it through soft sandy blond spikes. "I disobeyed Obi-Wan. I was so angry. It blinded me to the dangers–"

"Anakin–"

"No." Shaking his head sadly, he then nervously folded his arms across his chest. "He had been right to tell me to stay with Lady Anjah's entourage during the siege. I thought I was better and smarter. I was the Chosen One."

He paused, stealing a quick glance at Hiiro before shifting his gaze across the empty chamber. Never in the years of his apprenticeship had she ever indulged the belief that he was the Chosen One. When he thought himself so bold, she was always quick to kick him down a few notches. 

"I thought he was belittling me leaving me under the protection of Lady Anjah's Shingen Guard. I should have been in the fight against the rebels that had stormed the negotiations and murdered the Selé dignitaries." His hand briefly tightened into a fist before relaxing once more.

"You were eleven."

"I thought I could help. I ran away and into the fighting. I was the Chosen One."

"Anakin."

He shook his head. "In the middle of the slaughter, Obi-Wan found out I had taken off and when in search of me. Alone. No protection. Away from the fighting and Nural's Chinoumi soldiers. It was my fault because I was an angry child."

Hiiro did him the favor of not interrupting.

"His search for me led him out in the open and gave the Buhka militia a chance they otherwise would never have had to ambush him."

For a time, silence reigned between the two of them. Anakin's mind raced over the memories of the past and the helplessness that always returned. He could do nothing to change what was.

"Now I am being sent back."

"Think of it as your chance to follow orders this time. Make amends."

"I didn't know this mission was about to happen."

"Maybe it was the Force warning you through your dreams and preparing you for what was about to happen. Think of it as a premonition and take it as the gift you have. Meditate on those dreams, there may be more to their sudden nightly return on the eve of your journey back to Selenoor Buhka."

Bright blue eyes suddenly met his master's black. "You didn't want me to go on this mission."

It was Hiiro'eza's turn to be uncomfortable. He could feel it every time she called him padawan. The word somehow had changed and he didn't know why. She shifted in her seat before focusing on him once more.

"It will be a difficult mission for you. I am concerned that you are not ready for it."

"I do not think I ever will be. The Council was insistent that I go."

"Yes," came an uncharacteristically bitter tone.


	6. 

****

Chapter Six: The Musings of Breakfast

Nature prevails over adversity in ways the mind cannot begin to imagine. 

Golden leaves rustled in the bright spring morning, their delicate, shimmering color not faded by the Barim Acid that permeated every aspect of the bucolic world. 

The great, powdery white barked Marupa trees rose up and created a great carpet at the foot of Mount Reiki. The Vollen Forest reach for hundreds of kilometers in all directions, a perfect shield against progress and the destructive equipment of Nural Lord Tanchim's mining operations. 

Wild natural had so far won out against the industry where the cultivated fields along the plains had fallen victim to the machine.

The Marupa's deep roots and tough trunks were a formidable adversary to the clearing equipment. The tall canopy and the dense wooded area also provided excellent protection for the Buhka rebels that hid in the lush forest. 

Occopa birds sang tweeting and twittering, their purplish-gray feathers stark against the gold leaves. Their happy chirps filled the quiet morning air as a gentle breeze shifted through the woods. Crickets scratched out their songs, unseen in the heavy foliage as tiny fireflies skipped about just above the ground, their greenish glow dulled by the day.

Thin blades of pale green grass rose from the forest floor and crunched lightly under foot. The sounds of nature softened with warning of the approaching danger. The footfalls continued unabated.

A plaintive cry from an occopa protecting a nest full of hatchlings on a low hanging branch caught the attention of the quiet stalker. Sharp pointed ears perked up as a large garou stopped, the wild canid raised its black nose to the air and sniffed. Ignoring the rude bird and its appetizers, the garou continued toward its waiting prey. 

Its sleek fur of varying gray shifted over tight muscles as the principle carnivore of the Vollen Forest closed the distance between her and breakfast. Its long snout gave to a long mouth full of sharp white teeth that could easily rend flesh from bone. Sharp claws lined all four feet, each designed to grab hold of its prey and not let go, ripping into the tender leaves that littered the ground. 

The fearsome beast paused before an ancient tree whose trunk was nearly two meters in diameter. A flutter of brown caused the garou to start, but then it relaxed realizing the movement out of the corner of its black eye was just harmless material draped over a branch. 

Slowly the canid approached the reddish-brown cloak gently folded over a heavy horizontal branch. It ducked and swayed avoiding the movements in the gentle breeze. It dared to get a little closer, a damp nose lightly tickled by the fibers in the material. 

Careful not to snort and draw attention to its self, the garou withdrew and slowly trekked around the large tree, stopping when her prey came into sight. She crouched slightly, studying the motionless figure sitting against the sturdy trunk. Carefully, she sniffed the air, seeking any hints or warnings of danger about. 

There was nothing but she and a little late morning breakfast in the immediate area. 

A slight wiggle of muscles as the creature crouched down and prepared to spring. 

"I would not do that," Breakfast said as a hand raised and waved in a simple motion. The ginger haired man did not look up from the data pad resting on his knee. His back pressed against a slight depression in the massive tree's trunk created almost a cradle. 

The garou remained frozen in place. 

"You are more likely to find a slow moving rabbe than get a bite out of me, my furry canid friend."

Slowly the garou stood, she looked at him a moment longer then wondered off into the brush. 

For a moment, the quiet Jedi broke his gaze from the data reader and stared up into the canopy. Warm sunlight broke through the leaf-laden branches and danced in little spots of gold over his placid expression. These quiet mornings away from the bustle and noise of civilization reminded him of the peace he had felt in the Temple gardens in his youth.

Turning his complete attention back to the data pad, Obi-Wan studied the mess of blue notes that filled the smooth black screen. With light touches of fingertips, he moved the random bits of information–names, places, and dates–into a more organized format. 

It would not last long as he was just going to add more random notes. Not only was it filled with mission profiles and other relevant data, it was littered with small notes on things that had quirked his imagination, strange dreams that needed meditation on, or things that had some meaning that he could not quite place found their way into the data pad. 

This one small device was filled with thousands of pages of notes and the entire Jedi Code compressed into a high memory chip. Its worn edges reflected its use, but much care had gone into the keeping of the pad for it was very important to him.

It had been a gift, offered by Master Kollas, an elderly Aqualish who ran the Ebescene Temple on Turin IV. It had been given to help him upon his decision to return to the field after the several years spent there communing with the Force and recovering what severe injuries had taken away from him here on Selenoor Buhka seven years earlier. 

He missed those days by the crystal clear waters of the lake that the small temple overlooked. Even now, the name of the lake slipped his memories. Scrolling through the data pad, he found his notes on the Ebescene Temple. Scanning over the lines of scrolling data, he quickly found what he was searching for: Lake Alluen.

Tiredly he rubbed his forehead then leaned back into the tree. He brushed over his beard and then tugged at the red gold strands in a habit he had strangely adopted as of late. He needed to get his head together, straighten out his thoughts and focus on the mission at hand. The safety and of Lady Anjah and Temue was paramount.

Besides, the Jedi High Council had offered another incentive for completing this mission; they were allowing him to go home once his duties on Selenoor Buhka were complete. 

He smiled at the thought. _Home._

There had been trepidation when he had stared into the holographic images of the twelve members of the Council and asked them to let him come home. The pause and silence had lasted a little longer than he had hoped but at least they had agreed. 

Pale blue eyes followed the simple movement of his fingers as they gently brushed the silver edge of the reader. 

He had asked so many times over the years and was so rejected that he had grown accustomed to the denials. All the long missions that had kept him cut off from the only home he knew were taking their toll on him and he hoped that the masters had seen it as well. 

Certainly they did, otherwise they would not accepted his request.

His heart ached from missing his home and friends for so long. How many of his friends had been knighted? Where any of them at the Temple? A few friendly, recognizable faces would be greatly appreciated upon his return. He would even be willing to go to the healing center to see Bant, if she was there.

Yes, he could not wait to return to the Temple, to go home. 

Rising smoothly to he feet, paused long enough to carefully return the data reader to the protected folds of his tunic, then walked around the tree to where his cloak waited. He would return to Coruscant for the first time in many years, far less than he imagined but that is what he has been told. 

First though, there was the matter of his mission to tend to and the arrival of the second team to restart the negotiations. The team that he will eventually return to Coruscant with, he wondered who they were since the Council had neglected that bit of information.


	7. 

****

Chapter Seven: Observations

"Careful."

"I am always careful."

"Padawan."

"I am _almost_ always careful," Anakin corrected with a grin as he guided the runner through the billowing white clouds above the Selenoor Buhka landscape. Oranges and blues mingled in the high atmosphere as the small runner zipped across the world heading for the Selé capital city of Laskus. Warm sunlight cut through the gently curving cockpit window highlighting gold flecks in his sandy blond hair. 

Hiiro'eza Katua gripped the edge of her seat with one hand and the long fingers of the other gripped the navigational station. She closed her eyes so she would not be witness to them flying into the side of a mountain. "You do realize we are approaching Mount Reiki."

"It is a very large chunk of rock, Master," Anakin said lightly as his fingers danced over the myriad controls, smoothly guiding the craft along the flight path. "I can hardly miss it."

"That was what you said on Pravaka Prime."

"_That_ was a slight miscalculation."

"Try not to have a miscalculation here."

"Trust me, my Master, I don't want to spend anymore time here than I have too."

The remark caught Hiiro's attention, causing her to look up. Her black eyes focused on her young padawan. The training bond was open but she could sense his glib attitude was all masking. She did not like it when he hid his emotions from her, unfortunately he did it often and she did not know how to get him to cope with the turmoil inside. 

Hiiro watched as her padawan's frenetic movements slowed as the ship cruised toward the capital city. This moment of peace also revealed the small manifestations of uncontrolled emotions still welling within the eighteen-year-old. His right hand tightened into a fist then relaxed only to be repeated. 

Sighing inwardly, she doubted the anger inside would ever be completely tamed. The Isa'rui master also confronted the deep down truth that if it were not for a tragedy that had so humbled him, even she may not have been able to adequately train him. There were things he still clung to from his childhood on Tatooine that blocked him from ever knowing true inner peace. That, coupled with his guilt was a great burden on the youth. 

Yet, the guilt was something he would just have to live with until he accepted it and was able to move on. She could not ease it by telling him it was not his fault. He had allowed his emotions to overcome him and he had blatantly disobeyed an order most initiates would have remained steadfast too.

The investigation on the mission had given her the truth and surprisingly it was quite accurate to Anakin's version of events. That had always surprised her. Most would pass the blame or disregard what did not fit, but Anakin took it all on himself and rightly so. 

Still, even though he had learned from the event, he had never moved on.

That meddling Council and their so-called wisdom

She sighed and dampened the thought. There would be plenty of time to analyze in depth the details of that thought later.

Quietly turning her focus to the young man, Hiiro could hardly believe he was the boy she had met all those years ago in the healing center. He had seemed so small and fragile back then.

The Council had called her home from a mission halfway across the galaxy telling her she had a potential student. She never liked it when they thought them selves so mighty to dictate who she trained. Padawans were chosen only after months of evaluation and study. She would meet with the troubled youths and determine what it would take to put them on the right track to becoming proper Jedi knights and if it could be done.

Master Hiiro'eza had refused to train more potential students than she had years and at nearly a hundred and fifty, she had plenty of years. She was proud of the four whose lives she had intervened in and brought to knighthood. But in obedience to the Council's wish, she came to see the boy.

There had been rumbling about the Skywalker boy, she was not deaf to the whispers amongst the Jedi. He was special. That would not affect her judgment and it did not.

Mace Windu had briefed her on the situation, a mission gone wrong, an ambush and an orphaned padawan. When she had asked about the young master, Mace simply said he was gone.

The boy had been crushed under a wall alongside his master. Shattered bones, head and back injuries read like a shopping list. The Senebrak healers had done wonders to heal the body but they could do little with the mind. 

A powerful yet frightened and disoriented child had awoken to discover the pain of having his training bond cruelly severed and his master gone. He had fought the caregivers and in a terror filled fit, thrown beings and objects around the room. All the healers could do was sedate him. The Jedi medics that brought the boy back to the Temple had adhered to the same philosophy, wishing his body would heal before they faced the daunting task of dealing with grief and a torn training bond. 

That was where she entered the picture. She could bond with the sleeping mind of young Anakin and ease him back into his now upside down world. 

Hiiro spent days at the eleven-year-old's bedside, mulling over whether or not to bond herself with the boy and as such become his new master, reading progress reports, mission reports, speaking with those who had some contact with the boy before that last mission. What she found was that there was a common feeling of a greater loss of the young knight than emotion toward Anakin. He was an afterthought. 

Yet through observations of others as well as the young master's own words in training notes, there was affection. It was very clear that even though it was a forced bond, Kenobi thought well of the boy and certainly tried to do what was best for him. There was obvious inexperience on the young master's part but that would be expected of any new teacher let alone one forced into training a child from the wilds of Tatooine. It was an unorthodox pairing to say the least and the Council should never have allowed it. There were plenty of qualified masters about who could have taken on the youth after he was initiated into the communal life of all Temple younglings. It would have given the boy an opportunity to slowly adjust among agemates and learn from their common experience. 

Whereas this time could have offered young Kenobi room to grow into knighthood. From the reports she read, for all intents and purposes, he was still a padawan in knight's clothing. It was a difficult thing to transition from padawan to knight in the best of circumstances but to be forced into it was a tragedy in the making. She had seen the adverse affect of early promotion before and always felt sorry to those whom it had been bestowed upon.

Worse, she was convinced, to have gone from padawan to master in the skip of a heartbeat would be devastating. 

For some reason and only the Force knew for sure, she remained at the boy's bedside contemplating taking him as her padawan learner. Not even firmly convinced that he could be brought to knighthood, she reached out and found a willing mind, grasping desperately to fix the shattered bond. Never once in the years since had she regretted it.


	8. 

****

Chapter Eight: Delving Part 1 

__

On the second moon of the third planet in the Chembgard System, property of the Royal House of Tarmask, sat the expansive station simply known as Axis. The mid rim port sat at the edge of the Tarmask Empire where special permits were required to travel within their space and Axis was the gateway. A transfer port for cargo and passengers from unsanctioned craft to permitted ones, yet unlike its seedier counterparts scattered about the galaxy, Axis was a reflection of its owners. 

Pristine facilities that were constantly maintained by cleaning droid and being alike was a welcoming sight to all manner of travelers, or at least those allowed to land. Luxury hotels surrounded artificial parks, Class-A ship facilities and maintenance stations dotted the moon's surface, for like Coruscant, the Tebben moon was a city unto itself. The Tarmask Royal Gendarme who kept the peace and stifled all illegal activities also heavily patrolled the port. 

In the bowels of the Unibis Maintenance Facility, far from the eyes of high class visitors, on the northern hemisphere, in docking bay 1138, sat the Silver Tahka _, a Kuat L7-9 light freighter that had seen better days. Its formerly sleek chrome body was battered and dulled with carbon scoring. A patchwork of gunmetal gray panels replaced a number of the original panels. _

Members of the young, ashen-faced Senebrak crew buzzed about effecting a number of repairs to the damaged craft. The thin black tattoos of their Buhka heritage that lined their faces only added to the looks of determination as they quickly worked. From three separate points, showers of sparks exploded from welding equipment and hammers thrummed against the body. Two A3 droids, pint sized versions of their Astromech R2 series cousins, zipped about communing with the ship's computer and doing their own repairs. 

Overseeing the work was the large Selé, Captain Sapporo. Like his crew, his long silver hair was pulled back and plaited to stay safely out of the way during work. With his arms folded across his chest and sharp black eyes that studied the repairs as well as his horn-crested head, he presented a menacing figure. Yet, his royal blue clothing reflected the grease and grime of sharing the workload with his crew. 

A weary arm brushed across his red tattooed face as he wiped the moisture from his pale skin. Slowly raising his hand in the air, he waved at the men while simultaneously calling for a break time in his people's native tongue, the Busse. 

The dozen faces look up and smiles of relief erupted over tired faces as they came to a stop. 

As the young men broke from their duties and headed toward the nearest exit, Sapporo honored them with thanks for their hard work and dedications. After they were gone though, he allowed a heavy sigh to escape. Break time would not come for him until his ship was in working order again. 

The boys, as he often called the young men, needed their time to roam and relax. He understood that. He would give them a few hours to find food, nap or partake in whatever other entertainments they chose, so long as it did not stir up trouble or cause him any embarrassment. 

His tall stature was forced to crouch, almost crawl under the belly of his ship as he found the small work area of one of the welders. In the time that they would be gone, he could close up the remaining panels and speed them a little closer to returning to the trade routes. For the longer they sat, the more money they lost in late fees, lost job and hangar costs and loss of cargo as the fresh herbs he carried were slowly going bad. 

Just as Sapporo picked up the equipment, the high-pitched squawk of one of the A3 units grabbed his attention. Twisting about on the stool, he spied a figure at the far edge of the ship. 

Scratchy eyes narrowed as he strained to make out the shapelessness of a brown cloak. Quietly searching the nearby toolbox, he found a large hydrospanner and slipped it up into the wide sleeve of his work suit. 

Moving silently under the ship, at a crouch and never allowing his attention to stray from the still figure, he exited to the far side, away from his visitor. He did not want to get surprised coming face to face with whatever trouble this might be. His ravaged ship was more than enough. 

Peeking around the edge of the starboard engine, he watched as the hooded figure pulled a data pad into the folds of his tunic. 

"What do you want?" the Selé born Senebrak asked in a cultured Core accent. 

"Inigista Lord Sapporo?" returned an equally cultured voice. 

The Selé narrowed his eyes as he stepped around the edge of his ship and revealing that his visitor was a Jedi Knight. There was a pause on the Jedi's part before he returned his attention to the data pad. Scanning over some information, he shut it off and returned it too the protective place in his tunic. Once secure, he focused pale blue eyes on the captain. 

"What do you want?" Sapporo carefully looked over the ginger bearded face. When the Jedi pushed back his hood revealing an equally color touched mane, the captain eased his rigid stance slightly. After a moment more of inspection, he allowed the hydrospanner to slip out of his sleeve and fall into his tight grip. He quickly discarded the would-be weapon in a nearby toolbox. 

Bowing before the Selé, the Jedi said, "I am Obi-Wan Kenobi and I would like to request passage on your ship." 

"I transport only organic cargo as my permit from the Tarmask allows. So the answer is no." He turned to go back to his repairs. 

"I meant as a crew member." 

The captain paused. "I have no credits to spare." 

"I require none. Only room and board for my work." 

Sapporo turned to stare at the Jedi once more. "What kind of work?" 

"Whatever you will have me do. I am capable of mechanical repairs–" 

"Will you fight off raiding parties?" 

"As a mandate of the Senate I can not." 

"But if they attack where you are, you can fight them?" 

"Yes." 

Folding his powerful arms across his chest, Sapporo's dark eyes carefully studied the quiet Jedi before him. He quietly noted that this one, despite his beard was still quite young. Unless he missed his mark, the Jedi looked to be only in his early thirties for a human, not that he was much of a judge of the pink species. Yet there was no mistaking the powerful presence that radiated from the smaller man. 

"We are a ship of the damned," Sapporo finally said after a long silence. "You have seen my crew?" 

"Yes," was the impossibly calm reply. 

"They are Buhka, the lowest caste. They can never go home, never have contact with their families again. Buhka are forbidden to travel among the stars. That is a privilege of the Selé caste only. Yet these men, all desiring something more as boys left their families, knowing any attempt to contact them would put their parents, siblings and cousins lives in danger. Should they ever choose to return to Senebrak they will be killed for daring to step above their position. Myself? I am a pariah for working with such a crew, for associating with the lower caste. For my actions, my family name is all but ruined." He offered a bitter laugh. "Of course, all the family I have left is a niece." 

"Lord Sapporo," Obi-Wan began, "I am unfamiliar with the politics of your world or the caste system that rules it." 

The Senebrak's expression hardened. 

"I am though in need of becoming fluent in the Busse." 

Surprise reflected in the captain's dark eyes. "Why would you want to speak the lower language?" 

"Not every Senebrak speaks Basic." 

Something deep in the captain's chest caught. "What is it you are hoping to achieve by going to the Buhka?" 

Obi-Wan did not answer. 

To ask questions, one must be willing to answer them as well. 

Sapporo stormed across the duracrete floor only stopping when he was right in front of the Jedi; he glared down at the impossibly serene face. "You can learn that language in your Temple libraries. Is that not how Jedi become so fluent in many tongues?" 

After an unnaturally long pause, Obi-Wan looked up, meeting his sharp gaze. "Lord Sapporo, you are correct. The Jedi Temple is a repository of information. One of which is not available to me at this time. I must find other means to achieve my goals." 

"Are you rogue?" 

"I am on leave between missions, free to do as I wish as long as I do not interfere in Republic affairs." Obi-Wan folded his arms into his billowing cloak sleeves. There was a pause and the calm façade faltered allowing uncertainty to flutter in his soft eyes. "I cannot learn by study, only through emersion until it is second nature. You and your crew are my best hope of gaining this knowledge." 

So the Jedi were fallible, Sapporo thought. Though he had little experience with them, except sightings here and there. What he had seen were powerful beings radiating that knowledge, arrogance. Yet this man could be of use to him. "You have not answered my question of why you want to learn Busse. What do you think the Buhka will tell you? They will be afraid of an outsider." 

Again the infernal silence took hold between the two men. Obi-Wan's gaze shifted away, staring at the freighter. "My life nearly ended on Senebrak nearly six years ago." 

When he said no more, Sapporo tried to fill in the pieces. "And you wan revenge." 

"Jedi do not seek revenge," came the quick reply. "It is not in my nature. It is the past and I cannot change it, only accept it and go on." 

"But?" 

Obi-Wan faced the tall Selé again. "I lost memories, I lost years from my life and I think I lost something else." 

Something clicked in Inigista Sapporo's mind as he stared at the calm figure before him. The thought bloomed into a smile. "So you are the one Anjah has spoken of." 

Obi-Wan silently bowed in answer.


End file.
